The concrete seminar is being held in a warehouse next to The Good Hope Cemetery and close to Shell Town. It’s not the best area I’ve ever been in, but it has it’s charms.
One of it’s charms is the fact that I’m sitting on a white plastic chair in the warehouse with about 70 well muscled men, who are also sitting in chairs, grouped around a taped off concrete floor. The men keep sneaking looks at me, fascinated, I think, by my being only one of three women in attendance and because my contractor Chuckie and I are sitting on the side of the room that has the gigantic fan.
The great whoosh! of constant, rushing air from the fan is blowing the hair on my head, straight up and sideways to my left. I can feel the giant part in my hair that the wind has opened up on the back of my skull and I know the part is highlighting the band of new growth below my old hair color.
This situation reminds me of how, when my daughter Summer was about thirteen years old, because of a little hair accident, I was letting my wild mass of hair grow out.
My hair had been dyed an atrocious brindle brown color by an inexperienced beautician and then the nervous fellow had cut the wad into the ugliest hair cut I had ever had. It was so bad that when my boyfriend of the moment, walked into my house and saw me, he collapsed against the wall and moaned.
To ‘fix’ the problem I had later dyed my hair a shocking red color that instead ran to a brittle orange. To cover that mistake, a month later, I put blonde streaks through the mess.
Finally, I realized that my only recourse was to swallow hard and let time meander on it’s slow course as my hair grew out.
One day, well into the growing out process, I am driving my little blue mustang car, happily down the road, along the coast, windows open, enjoying the ride. Summer is in the back seat.
By this time I not only have the brindle brown dog-poop colored hair, with the red and orange and blonde splotches, but I am also sporting, close to my scalp, a band of my mother’s very prematurely white hair.
I’m driving the car, breezing along with my wealth of hair blowing, snapping in the wind and parting itself with abandon, when I hear Summer shriek.
“Gads, Mother!” she is yelling, “Aren’t you embarrassed? How can you stand to look so awful?”
For some reason it doesn’t bother me to look like this. I just think, ‘If I can live with this horrid pile of various colored hair, then everybody else should be able to deal with it.’
The point I’m getting to is, at this Concrete Seminar I am now sitting in a rather similar hair situation, but this time with a much larger audience, all male. Fortunately, in this setting, unlike my daughter, no one screams their outrage and harasses me for looking poorly put together.
As it turns out, I sit in the wind for three hours, watching different beefy fellows illustrate the fine art of rolling pale green or brown paint over various slabs of concrete. Then I watch them gingerly toss various small colored paint chips over the paint, one handful of chips at a time, one at a time and very, very carefully. Then, I watch each man roll a clear sealer coat over the paint chips, very carefully. Again and again. Different men, same colors, same paint chips, same sealers.
It’s a yawner.
I’ve come to this class to get some ideas for flooring for the new patio my contractor is building for me, but after three weary and well blown hours, I lean over to Chuckie and say, “I’ve had enough of learning how to do garage floors. I’m outta’ here.”
Chuckie sighs and rubs a callused hand through his bit of blonde beard.
“To tell you the truth,” he whispers, “I’ve had enough of garage floors, myself. I’m gonna call it a day.”
So, OK the Concrete Seminar isn’t one of my more interesting and fruitful adventures, but in my life, I specialize in Adventures. I like to step outside my normal circle and have Experiences.
If your life seems kind of dull, sad or dreary, maybe you might consider having some Adventures?
If this idea makes you nervous, you can start by having small adventures, like maybe eating ice cream with eggs for breakfast or sewing yourself a nightgown strewn with spangles. Then, you can graduate to bigger things, like climbing the giant pine tree in front of the court house or learning to sing in Japanese while eating dinner at the same time.
You, as God, are here to Experience, so get out of your tiny hole of a life and make God/Yourself, happy!……….As the Beings say:“God is always happy, and God is always glad because It is always experiencing Itself.”